


Liars Leaving My House

by imochan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, MWPP Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:59:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imochan/pseuds/imochan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys.   The shack.  One last gasp, in 7 parts.</p>
<p>Written for the Shack Challenge, 2004.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liars Leaving My House

**Author's Note:**

> For the [](http://shack-challenge.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://shack-challenge.livejournal.com/)**shack_challenge** , based off of the first cinematic images we ever saw of the Shrieking Shack. Items used were, in order of appearance, the bed, the phonograph and records, the butterbeer, and the piano. The sections are in chronological order, beginning from the winter of seventh year and spanning to the end of spring.

 

**Winter in the Afternoon, Two Boys**

It's not any different, says Sirius, just better.

It is different, Remus wants to say, but his head keeps knocking the back of the wall, and dust keeps showering down onto his face, since Sirius's hand is in his trousers, rougher than he likes and he can't really talk at all.

Sirius's breath smells musky and sweet dusty-sour - from the cigarette he had outside in the snow – when he leans over and takes Remus's wrist, and moves Remus's hand to his own crotch and _fuck_ thinks Remus, because his trousers are open already, and he's so close, and he's _shaking_. Sirius's hair is in his mouth, Sirius's nose is pressed against his temple, _fuck fuck Christ fuck uh_ against his cheek in Sirius's voice.

It's sticky and awkward for Remus afterward, but Sirius drags a blanket down from the bed and wipes himself off.

Place is a bloody mess, he says, grinning, lighting another smoke, flame flickering in the draft that skitters across the floor, we gotta start cleanin' up after ourselves, huh?  


  
**'Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere'**

"You know," Peter pointed out. "Looking at it from this angle, it was probably a waste of money."

"It was on sale," Remus reminded him. "Practically free."

"Ruddy antique, it is!" James rubbed his hands together. "Ancient artifact! Muggle history at our very, very mischievous and talented fingertips! Figure we can get it to do anything cool?"

"Besides play music?"

"But that's the _thing_ ," Peter sighed. "It doesn't even make any sparks, much less blow up or anything! How on earth is _this_ a worthy purchase?"

"James never should have shown you how to make your own dungbombs."

"Oi, Lupin, don't bring the man down – he's bloody all right at what he does."

"Explosives. Very respectable career choice, there."

"The Prefect pounces! Run for your life, Pete! He wields sarcasm!"

"Oh, bugger off," Remus crouched, and tapped the phonograph with his wand.

" _Christ_ ," said Sirius, rapturous, oblivious, strains of Bowie tipping him back on his heels. "I love rock and roll."  


  
**Prints and Records**

He made him listen to Zeppelin when they did their Herbology homework in the morning after, having run the night ragged and panting, Remus bleeding sluggishly on the sheets, and Sirius's quill bleeding ink-stains through the paper onto the pillows. When Remus moved he knocked the records about, bruising knees, elbows, jabbing his back with printed covers, because Sirius never put them away, because Sirius always needed things to be within reach. He managed to catch Dark Side of The Moon before it clattered to the floor, but Sirius caught and held his ankle with a hot, sweaty palm, to keep him still.

  
**King Aces Joker**

"Rummy!"

"Peter, stop _saying_ that. We're playing poker."

"Poker's just another dumb Muggle game, anyway – " his drink sloshes and Remus catches it before it topples over. "And I'm going to lose, aren't I?"

"Hee-hee-hee. Probably."

"Oh, ta, Sirius."

"Nice poker face, Pads."

"Oi! You've been cheating looks at my hand all evening anyway, Lupin, no wonder you're cleaning us out."

"Yes, I'm a right ruddy sneak. Royal flush."

"Fuckin' _hell_!"

"Aw, c'mon -- !"

"Oh- for – Peter, watch your elbow --!!"

"Peter! Oh, it's just butterbeer, anywa – hang on, are you _drunk_?"

"Rummy!"

"Oh, honestly."

  
**Cowards in Love**

_Sirius_ , he hisses, _They're right outside_.

_Fuckin' chicken, are you?_ Sirius asks, into his ear, breath sour with fire-whiskey, but he tastes like butterbeer when he catches the side of Remus's mouth with his teeth and tugs. Remus thinks if they fall into bed they'll never come out again, and that will be it, drunk or no, that will be it, so he keeps his back rigid against the bedpost, and Sirius and he overlap thighs, and wrists and fingers and teeth, shaking, rutting.

Sirius has a flat in London, Remus thinks, when Sirius bites his shoulder.

Sirius would hate it if I asked, Remus thinks, when he shoves his palm up against Sirius's erection, and holds Sirius too tight to let them kiss.

I'd be giving in, Remus thinks, and swallows back the bile that laughs _what is this then what is this what is this_.

Sirius is holding him up when it's over, against the bedpost with both arms. Sirius kisses him now, and they can hear James yelling outside, obscenities for the hell of it, and Peter retching into the melting snow, and Ah, Remus thinks, Ah, Romance.  


  
**Fever Transformation, Minuet in G**

Remus couldn't breathe. The moon set hours ago and he still couldn't breathe. The room was too hot, the sheets were strangling his skin and ankles and fingers and his ears were full of cotton. This is panic, he mouthed against the dust-stuffed pillows, sweat on his lips, drinking it. I remember this, he mouthed, the first night, when, when, when, no, breathe, he thought, desperately, just _do_ it.

Where is everyone, he thought, blindly. Why am I alone, what did I do?

The rat was playing piano, dancing on the keys, and Remus sang along, laughing even though his lips cracked a little, and he felt the blood on his chin.

They had a wet cloth for him, he remembered, when he was more lucid, and Peter whispered in his ear that he was sorry, but his mum always used to play for him, when he was sick.

Remus said he didn't mind, though he saw that Sirius had given Peter a punch in the arm – blue and green Sirius-knuckle bruise – for making too much noise.  


  
**Perfidy**

There was a long rip in the curtains of the canopy, where the sun knifed through. Remus touched the gold dust in the stream, eddies round his fingertips, and his skin prickled.

Sirius sat up, beside him, naked and beautiful, and braced a hand on Remus's thigh. His body blocked the light, halo behind his shining, messy head, and Remus had to slip back into musty darkness.

The house was shuddering around them, creaks like heartbeats. And Remus didn't want to but he was searching for Sirius; found his warm, bare back and touched it, five-finger splay, saying, _time to go, time to go, we can go now._

Last day and all, said Sirius. Ready, then?

And in the dark he nodded.


End file.
